


Sleeping In

by murg



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe, Codependency, Domestic, Dubious Morality, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, False Memories, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Manipulation, Mental Instability, OOC but there's a reason, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Terminal Illnesses, Unreliable Narrator, this story is a mess just so you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-04 01:32:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16337183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murg/pseuds/murg
Summary: It was a stupid dream.





	Sleeping In

It was a nice dream. Not something I want to revisit anytime soon, though.

Makoto and I went on vacation to a tropical island. We went by boat instead of plane, for obvious reasons. I hate planes. If we’d gone by plane, I guess it would have been a nightmare instead of a dream, but no, it was a nice dream. So no planes. We went by boat.

I think we won the trip in a sweepstakes lotto or something. I’m really not sure. Details like that are fuzzy in dreams. Our friends were there, too, even though I’m not sure how they got there. Dream logic. The weather was perfect and I didn’t get sunburned. I wasn’t sick, in the dream, either. I’m sick in a lot of my dreams, really sick, dying. Not this dream. I was on an island with Makoto, and we took a boat there, and our friends were with us on the beach.

There’s one part of the dream that I remember really well. Makoto and I were walking along the beach, looking for seashells. I kept finding pretty seashells and he kept finding broken glass. The broken glass was pretty, too, though. Sea glass, Makoto called it. It was strange, though, wasn’t it? How I kept finding seashells and Makoto could only find glass. I felt strangely responsible for that. It wasn’t a very good feeling, even though the sea glass was pretty and Makoto did seem happy about it.

Right. A pleasant dream. Nice dream. Just not worth revisiting.

“Hey there.” His calming voice rises to the forefront of my consciousness, his soft hand against my bare shoulder. Makoto. I open my eyes, and he’s above me, smiling warmly. “You sleep good?”

“Mm.” I pull my arms out from under the covers, rubbing my face. “Well enough. I had a really good dream.”

“That’s good.” He cocks his head. He’s just showered. He smells good. I like how Makoto smells when he’s just showered. “What was it about?”

“We went to an island,” I say. “We won a lotto. Everyone was there. It was fun.”

“That sounds like a nice dream,” he says, some trace of humor in his voice. “Wish we won the lotto in real life.”

“Mm.” I shake my head. “I’m content not to win the lotto, haha. More trouble than it’s worth. I’m happy, here.”

“Me too. You’re right. Not worth the taxes.”

“The taxes! Didn’t even think about that.” I sit up slowly. “I think I’d like to take a boat to an island, someday, though.”

“That would be nice,” he hums, taking his hand off of me. “I’m going to start some tea.”

“Okay.” I swing my legs out of bed. “I’ll shower and be right down.”

“Sure thing.” He leans forward, kissing me on the cheek.

I still get so flustered, when Makoto kisses me. It feels surreal that we’re actually married now. That we’re together forever. As long as that lasts. It makes my heart constrict in a painful, good way. “I can’t believe how lucky I am,” I say, throat thick.

Makoto shakes his head, smiling. “What’s luck got to do with anything?”

“I don’t know. I’m just...thankful, I guess.”

He wipes a dangling strand of hair out of my face, his thumb warm and solid. “I’m thankful, too,” he says. “I’m thankful for you, every day, Nagito.”

I clench the comforter in my fists, muscling out a tight smile. It’s such an awkward discussion. I make things so awkward, all the time. First thing in the morning, and this is what we’re talking about. How embarrassing.

“Hey,” he says, voice breaking into my thoughts. “I love you, you know?”

I nod. “I know. I love you, too!”

He looks down, abashed. Makoto is so cute. “I’ll be in the kitchen,” he says, getting off the bed. I wave to him, as he leaves the room. It’s a silly gesture, but I do it often. Goodbye, I think. Farewell. I never think, See you soon. I’ve always been fatalistic, I suppose. It comes with the territory of my circumstances. The sicknesses.

Makoto doesn’t mind, though. Makoto loves me just the way I am.

\- - -

“It’s steeping,” Makoto says when I come into the kitchen.

“Oh. Thank you.”

He gives me a quick smile, moving toward the fridge. Makoto usually eats eggs for breakfast. I like toast. It’s easy to get down, especially when I don’t feel very good. It’s a comforting food. I like the most basic bread, in the thicker cut loaves. Makoto once bought me bread from a French place, but the slices were so thin. I ate it anyways, though, because he was thoughtful. Makoto is always thoughtful. Sometimes he fries an egg and puts it on my toast. I think that’s sweet of him. I don’t always eat it, though. He understands, but I still feel bad.

“I thought we’d see Nanami today!” he says, canting his head. “If that’s okay. She’s been wanting to hang out with you.”

I laugh, a little hollow. “Hang out with me? I won’t refuse seeing Nanami, but I’m not sure what she gets out of beating me at video games over and over. I must not be fun to play against.”

Makoto hums, rummaging through the cabinet. “Sometimes you win.”

“Rarely.”

“But sometimes.”

I shrug, looking out the window. Snow, soon. The leaves have just about all curled off of the trees. There’s a beauty to their bared states. I think so, at least. They’re going to sleep for a long time, and blossom so beautifully come spring. “That’s just luck.”

“So?” He’s next to me, his hands wrapped around his tea mug, the tea-leaf filter still sitting inside. Makoto likes to hold his drinks, even when he’s not drinking them. He likes the warmth. It’s a simple thing, but I find it really cute. “Maybe you should take the victories where you can, you know?”

“I guess.” I shrug.

He nudges me. “You take your pills yet?”

“Ugh.”

“Nagito.”

I grimace, moving toward the kitchen sink. They’re set up by my empty cup, arranged by day of the week. If I had it my way, I wouldn’t take any of them. They’re too large, and they taste awful. If I didn’t have Makoto, I wouldn’t see a reason to take them. They’re prolonging me, though, and I want to stay with him. So I take them for both of our sakes.

“And the liquid!” he calls.

I pull open the fridge door. “Why can’t I just put that in my tea?”

I hear him hum. “I’m not sure. We should ask the doctor, next time!”

“It would ruin the tea anyways,” I mumble, pulling it out. “So I wouldn’t take it with tea, I think.”

“That’s fair.” He’s moved to the sink, tapping his tea-leaf filter above the rim of his mug.

My mouth is acrid, like factory fumes. I watch Makoto empty the tea leaves from my mug, too. He’s so nice to me. Too nice. Why is he too nice? I don’t know. I can’t say. Call it instinct. It’s hard to explain.

“Hey, Nagito,” he says, sliding my mug across the counter, bumping into the meat of my left hand.

I incline my head. “Yeah?”

“I’m just really happy you’re here.” He’s looking at my hand, a soft smile lifting his cheeks.

I swallow, fingers looping into the handle of my mug. The porcelain is warm, but not too hot. “I am too.” My throat is thick. It’s hard not to get emotional about it, though. The prognosis doesn’t look good. It never has. But I am grateful. I’m so grateful I’m with Makoto, that we’re together, that we can support each other, that we love each other, that I won’t have to die alone.

“Hey.” Makoto’s voice, warm and reassuring. “Don’t worry, Nagito. Okay?”

I nod, offering a watery smile. “Okay.”

\- - -

We take the elevator up to Nanami’s apartment.

“I’m excited,” I say, rolling onto the balls of my feet.

“You’re always excited,” Makoto says. He smiles up at me. “I love how enthusiastic you are about everybody.”

I blush, laughing. “Ah! Uh, I just really love our friends so much, Makoto... I guess I am enthusiastic, aren’t I? But they’re so nice. They’re nice to me...”

“Why wouldn’t they be?” He reaches for my arm. I let him grab it, his fingers slipping into the groove of my inner elbow. “You deserve nice things, Nagito. We all like you very much.”

“Well, you’re a little prejudiced,” I point out.

He huffs, grinning. His face is dusted with red. “Of course, I like you best of all,” he says. He sounds almost proud of that. I don’t really understand Makoto a lot of the time, but I appreciate him. I love him just the way he is.

The elevator doors open before I can come up with something not embarrassing to say as a response. I step out onto solid ground, but Makoto is still standing in the elevator, just staring at the space behind me.

I cock my head. “Makoto?”

“I just thought I...” Makoto furrows his brow, eyes distant. He chews on his bottom lip. “Well, never mind. We can talk about it later? If that’s okay.”

I nod, mouth a little dry.

We start walking down the long hallway. I think it stretches out in a strange way. It reminds me of nice hotels, where the hallways seem to multiple into infinity. They scare me, but this hallway doesn’t. I just think it’s long. I know not to be afraid of a hallway. Nanami lives here.

Makoto stops walking. I turn around, cocking my head.

“I’ve got to go talk to a work friend,” he says. “Is that okay? I’ll be back in less than an hour, hopefully.”

Such a sudden thing, I think. Oh well. I don’t question it. I don’t worry about it. I don’t feel a great need to do so. Makoto has to leave for sudden reasons, all the time. His work is very strange, but he says it’s too boring to talk about. Some of it is secret, he says. I respect that. They’re work secrets, not his secrets. Makoto and I don’t have secrets.

“That’s fine,” I say, a little too quickly. I mean it, though. It is fine.

“Great,” he says, leaning in and giving me a peck on the cheek. His lips are warm and dry. My skin always gets so hot, whenever he kisses me. “Love you. See you soon. Have fun!”

“T-thanks,” I mutter. “Ahm. Love you too!”

Makoto smiles, extracting himself from my grip and walking down the hallway, to the elevator. I watch him turn away to wait for it, and I turn toward Nanami’s door. If I had it my way, I’d wait for him to get in the elevator, too, but I know that’s not a good practice. I’ve done that before and it just makes me anxious.

The room is dark, the television on. Unsurprising. Nanami likes sleeping, and she likes mood-lighting for her gaming experiences. It’s a win-win for her. So her apartment is often dark. I don’t mind at all. It’s cozy.

Hinata is also there. Hinata and Nanami are my best friends. They’re Makoto’s friends, too. I get so overwhelmed, sometimes, thinking about how many people care about me. It makes me want to run and hide, and I don’t know why.

“Komaeda,” Nanami says, waving to me from the floor. I toe off my shoes and close the door, coming inside. Hinata has his legs tucked underneath the kotatsu, watching the CRT-TV screen.

“Hi, Nanami. Hi, Hinata.” I slide down onto the floor.

Hinata grunts. He’s is a little bull-headed, but I still like him. I like all of my friends so much, it makes me feel fit to bursting with affection. They like me, after all, and I like anyone who likes me. They don’t think it’s a chore to be by my side, somehow. I’m so grateful.

“I think I’d like to play a fighting game,” Nanami says. “Do you want to play?”

“Sure,” I say. I love playing games with Nanami, even if I (almost, Makoto reminded me) always lose. I love watching her play games, even more. She’s so good at playing video games. I love watching people do things that they’re good at, things that they love doing. I feel at peace, knowing there are capable people out there.

Nanami hands me the second player controller and leans over, resetting the system and putting in another cartridge.

“You can’t just mash buttons,” Hinata mumbles, resting his face on the kotatsu.

“I don’t know the combo stuff like Nanami,” I say. “I’m not so talented! So I just push stuff and I pray, I guess.”

“You don’t need to be talented to play video games,” he says. “Anyone with two hands can play video games.”

“You don’t need two hands,” Nanami mutters, focusing on the screen. I find her ability to focus so well really admirable. She should try to do video games professionally, if that’s a thing.

“I could teach you some button combos,” Hinata says. “Then you wouldn’t lose so much.”

“Have you ever even beaten her?” I ask.

“No,” Nanami says.

Hinata snorts. “Whatever.”

“Then I guess whatever I’m doing is working,” I say, as the screen shows Nanami’s character flexing in victory. “I think I have a...mm, one in sixtieth chance of winning? Not so bad, all things considered.”

“Depends on the game,” Nanami says. “Some games aren’t even skill-based, I think.”

“Like text-heavy sims,” Hinata says. “Mash the X button and win.”

“I like them,” Nanami says. “I don’t think they’re my favorite, but I still like them.”

“You like every kind of game. That doesn’t mean anything.” There’s affection in Hinata’s tone. He holds warmth, inside of him. It’s just only on the inside. He’s a lot like a chestnut, but a human person. The outside is prickly, but the inside is nourishing. Compassionate. Good. Kind. It’s reassuring, in a strange way. I like Hinata a lot, and I like Nanami a lot, and I like that they like each other, too.

Sometimes, I feel like their child. It’s an uncomfortable, pleasant concept. I prefer being their friend, though. I had parents, once, after all, and they loved me very much. I don’t think about it a lot, but that’s just because I’m so distracted and my memory is like moth-bitten silkscreen now. I wish I remembered more, but the murkiness isn’t always a bad thing.

Makoto tells me not to worry about it. He says it with such a sad, kind quirk in his lips. I trust him. I don’t worry about it.

It can’t be helped, after all.

“See, she wins again,” Hinata says.

“It’s expected!” I laugh.

Nanami hums to herself, fidgeting with the controls. “Maybe another game...?”

“Of course!” I say. “Anything, Nanami. I don’t even have to play. I’m kind of tired, haha...”

“Okay,” she says. “Maybe I’ll play something by myself, and you can sit with Hinata, or something. I dunno.”

“I don’t mind if you play single player!” I rub my hands on my pants. “I like watching you play, Nanami.”

“Okay, I guess,” she says. “I think I’ll play this game, then.”

“I can be your good luck charm,” I say, shifting to sit on my folded calves.

“Mm.” Nanami blows on the cartridge before slotting it into the system.

“Don’t say dumb stuff,” Hinata mumbles.

I twist to smile at him. He looks at me with glossy, tired eyes. He hasn’t been sleeping, has he? No wonder Hinata is always so cranky. I want to ask him what’s wrong, but I know now isn’t the time. There are times and places for things to be discussed. There are contexts for conversations. I’ll ask Hinata, later, and he can tell me if he wants.

The screen lights up with the title. It’s an old Zelda game. I don’t know much about them, but I’ve seen pictures of them, and I’ve seen Nanami play some.

“I’ve played this game a lot,” she says. “I’m speedrunning, this time.”

“Speedrunning.”

“Yeah, it’s where you try to beat a game as fast as possible. World records get made, and stuff like that...”

“That’s very cool,” I say. “You must hold tons of world records, Nanami!”

“Mm.” She tilts her head. “I don’t do it often.”

“I think it’s kinda dumb,” Hinata says. “Playing the same thing over and over again. The ending doesn’t change.”

“It’s not about the ending,” she says. “It’s about the execution. Pressing the buttons. Getting better. Stuff like that.”

“Wanting to be the best,” I say. “Being the very best at something...”

Hinata makes a disgruntled noise.

“This game, I like it’s story a lot, I think… But the sequel is fun, too. That’s for handheld,” she says, humming. “He gets stranded on an island and he needs to wake up a Windfish. But once he does, it’s revealed the whole island and everyone on it was part of the Windfish’s dream. Then he wakes up, lost at sea. I think that's how it goes, at least. It has really fun side quests.”

I nod, watching her throw bushes. I lean my back against the edge of the kotatsu, the edge digging into my spine.

“Shit.”

“What is it, Hinata?”

He frowns. His eyes have a far-off, misty quality to them. Nanami pauses her game for a moment, before resuming it, not saying anything.

I drum my fingers on the tabletop, anxious. “Hinata...?”

“The AI can only go so far,” Hinata murmurs. “I’m limited, in that capacity.”

I blink. “What?”

“I’m limited,” he repeats, running a hand through his hair.

“That’s okay, Hinata,” I say slowly. “We all are.”

He shakes his head. He won’t look at me. The TV screen lights up one side of his face, leaving the other in darkness. It’s like he has two skin tones, two eye colors, two expressions. Hinata is a handsome man, I think. I’m so lucky that we are friends. I’m so thankful that we know each other.

The walkway creaks. I lift my head.

The door opens, but Makoto isn’t the one opening it. It’s a woman. She has blonde hair, and her lips unfurl into pointed bones. Icy eyes lock on me, like targeted missiles, and she raises her arms to wave.

She only has one hand.

\- - -

“A...a dream,” I gasp, pressing my palms into my eye sockets, groaning. “I had a dream...”

“A dream,” Makoto says blankly.

“A bad dream,” I mutter.

“A bad dream.”

My shoulders shake so hard my jaw rattles. I can’t seem to get a hold of myself. Makoto lays his small, warm hand on my left arm, fingers light against my skin. I take a few deep breaths, shaking.

“Hey,” he says, voice low and close. “Do you need me to do anything?”

“N-no...” I blink, eyes burning. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay.” He rubs his hand along my upper back, hesitant. “Um. Hinata’s in the living room. I’m gonna talk to him for a little bit. Is that okay?”

“Sure.”

“Just... Just call for me, if you need me. I mean it, Nagito. I don’t mind. I want to make sure you feel okay.”

“I love you,” I say, face warm. Why do I say useless, irrelevant things all the time?

Makoto looks at me carefully. His eyes search my face for a moment. He looks so worried. Then he smiles a little, and he says, “I love you too, Nagito. I’ll be right outside the door, okay? Try to get some rest.”

“O...okay...” I lie back down, smiling nervously as he leaves the door open just a crack. Just a little bit of light into our bedroom. Our bedroom. Ours. It’s our bedroom. The bed that Makoto and I sleep in, every night. Together.

I press my face into his pillow, breathing deeply. My lungs ache. The pillow smells like him. It’s not a great smell, because it smells like him in the morning, before he’s showered, but it still smells like him. I close my eyes, and I drift a little, thinking about Makoto lying next to me.

“There are some glitches, it happens.” I can hear Hinata’s muffled voice through the wall, plaintive and irritated. He cares a lot about people, but he shows it in strange ways. I like that about Hinata, though. He’s unique. He’s himself.

“I just... I wish we’d managed to get rid of all traces of it.” Makoto’s voice. He’s upset. He sounds watery, close to crying. Very tired. I stiffen, listening to them.

“It’s like a cockroach, it always comes back somehow. You can’t just stamp it out.”

“I know, I... I really don’t understand...”

“Hey. If I could control the guy responsible for this, I’d punch him in the face for ever starting this. Or myself in the face? Look, I don’t know. But Komaeda is okay, anyways, isn’t he? He was sleeping.”

“Yeah.” A pause. Makoto says, slowly, “I really don’t want this to happen again. We’re so close.”

“You think we’re that close?”

“Usami said...”

“You really trust Usami? That’s rich, coming from you, considering...”

“I trust _him_ ,” Makoto says. “I believe in him. I’ve been with him, haven’t I? I’ve tried everything with him, and this is...what works. He’s doing so much better, now. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

Hinata is quiet. Then he mumbles something I can’t hear.

I roll onto my stomach, pushing my face into Makoto’s pillow. I could suffocate, like this. That would be bad. If I suffocated, I would die, and then I wouldn’t get to be with Makoto anymore. I wouldn’t get to see Nanami or Hinata. I wouldn’t get to drink tea or go for walks or look at trees. That would be very sad. I think so, at least. I’m not sure.

I don’t think the dead feel grief.

My eyes are glued to the little crack of light through the door. Makoto could have closed it, but he didn’t. He kept it open, so he could hear me, if I needed him. Makoto would never shut a door on me.

My eyes slide shut, and I’m dreaming again.

\- - -

“I really would like to go to the ocean.” I kick my feet against the sidewalk.

Makoto holds onto my elbow, hand still warm through the fabric of my coat. He’s always touching me in little ways. I really appreciate it. It’s reassuring. I never have to ask, but I always get to give permission. Makoto is so thoughtful, and he knows me so well. He never judges me. He always looks at me like I mean something.

I dig my nose into my jacket, face heating up. It’s a lot to take in, sometimes. How much I love him. He’s the shining beacon in my life. I’m a very lucky person. Absurdly lucky.

“Then we’ll go to the ocean,” he says easily. “Someday. Maybe on an island, or a tropical beach.”

“I think I’d like that.”

“We could just plan a trip to the coast, in the near future. I haven’t been to Osaka in a while, though I know you don’t like cities... I think you mean something more like Polynesia, maybe? Right?”

“Ah. I like both.” I watch the people passing us by, wearing coats and suits and many holding umbrellas. It’ll probably rain today. The forecast said. “I haven’t been to the ocean in a long time...”

In the faces of strangers passing by, I see a face. There and gone. My blood feels like it drains from my body.

“Nagito?” Makoto’s soft voice.

I blink. “Um... Makoto?”

“Did you see something? Are you okay?” His hand clenches around my elbow with a worrying insistence. Not enough to hurt. Makoto has never once hurt me, not even by accident.

“A-ah...” I shrug. “I don’t know. I just...saw a face, ah ha. Well, there are lots of people out here, so that’s not weird, is it?”

“I...guess not,” he says.

I muscle out a little laugh. “It was just a woman,” I say, not wanting to seem like I’m keeping secrets. I don’t want any secrets between Makoto and me. Makoto understands me, and he never judges me. Makoto loves me. I should always tell him the truth. He cares. “I don’t know, you know how I get into moods... I think that’s all that happened.”

“Maybe.” But the frown tugs at his lips, insistent. “We should ask the doctor, when we go next time. ...You need to stop chewing on your clothes, Nagito.”

I release my zipper from my mouth. I hadn’t even noticed. “Sorry.”

“Hey. It’s okay.” Makoto smiles at me, eyes soft and wet. He’s so kind. He’s so compassionate. And I am his favorite person. I am his husband. Makoto loves me very much, and I don’t doubt him for a second. It’s so comforting, to know someone loves me as much as Makoto does. It’s almost too good to be true.

“I’m so lucky,” I murmur, “that I know you.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” he says, voice warm. “We’re together because we choose to be. I love you, Nagito.”

“I... I love you too. Makoto.”

The trees have lost all their leaves, in this neighborhood. After they wake up in spring, though, they will be beautiful. They will come out of the winter, stronger and sweeter than ever. I can already smell the cherry blossoms in this November air.

Makoto reaches for my hand and I extend it to him, palm up. His hand is small in mine, but sturdy and reassuring. An anchor point. Makoto is smiling, so I smile too. The trees are so beautiful, I think, especially when they are like this.

\- - -

“More of this shit?” Hinata grumbles, taking a piece of toast off of my plate. That’s fine. I wasn’t hungry, anyways.

“Hey,” Makoto chastises. “Be a little lighter, yeah? It’s not...the end of things.”

Hinata frowns, but he doesn’t say anything.

I look between them. Nanami sits beside me at the kitchen counter, face buried in her arms. She’s sleeping.

It feels like they’re having a private conversation, but I’m right here in the room with them. No one has asked me to leave. I guess it doesn’t involve me. That’s fine. I prefer things that way.

“Could be on his end,” Hinata says.

Makoto hums, grabbing the tea kettle. “Very possible. Isn’t that a good sign?”

“Potentially,” he says flatly. “Potentially not. Potentially the opposite. Potentially very bad.”

Makoto doesn’t say anything. He grabs a bunch of mugs from the cabinet. Hinata and Nanami will be staying for tea, then. I like that. We rarely do that, but it’s a peaceful thing, isn’t it? Drinking together. It’s communal, and comforting. Makoto and my friends and me.

“There are too many risks with this,” Hinata mumbles. “Especially with you.”

Makoto stiffens, but he doesn’t stop fiddling at the kitchen counter. “It’s worth it,” he says. “I’ll take those risks.”

Hinata sighs, long and ragged.

Nanami groans, lifting her head. Her cheek is bright red, from being pressed against her arm. “Hi,” she says, blinking at me.

I smile, giving a little wave. “Ah. Hi, Nanami.”

“Do you know what time it is?"

“Early for you, probably. Makoto’s making tea.”

“Oh.” She inclines her head. “Hm. I think I’d like that.”

I push my plate toward her, a slice of toast still on it. “You can have this, if you want.”

She looks at the plate. She looks back up at me. “You should probably eat it, Komaeda.”

“I’m not hungry.”

She shrugs, taking the toast and biting into it, crumbs spraying onto her sleeves. It’s probably cold and soggy, I realize too late. But Nanami doesn’t seem to mind. How embarrassing, all the same.

“Things will be different when we’re out,” Makoto says, voice steady and bright. “We’ll do lots of things. We’ll hang out by the beach and stuff. I’m sure we’ll still be able to talk, too. Your friend, the mechanic, he’s working on some interesting stuff with you and Fujisaki’s work.”

“You mean other me,” Hinata says. “Anyways. I think it’s a little too early to start planning for the future, considering you don’t even know if this is going to pan out. This, right here? It’s a volatile situation. And it’s going to get more unpredictable. You’ve got to know that, right? I mean. Considering Komaeda’s, well. _Komaeda.”_

“Oh! Don’t worry about me,” I say. “I’m just gonna die soon, anyways.”

They stop talking. They’re both looking at me. Nanami looks up from her toast.

“Please don’t say stuff like that,” Makoto says tightly, frowning.

Then the room is quiet again.

Still quiet. I’m supposed to say something to that, aren’t I? A response. So the room won’t be quiet anymore. What, though? I scour my brain, ransacking different drawers, coming up with nothing. Before I know it, I’m laughing.

Makoto and Hinata both make faces. Oops.

“S-sorry,” I manage, still laughing. I don’t want to be laughing. 

Hinata shoots Makoto a look, but Makoto is already walking toward me, hands outstretched. “It’s fine,” he says warmly, reassuring. “You’re tired, aren’t you?”

“Ah. No?” I blink, smiling.

Makoto smiles back at me. A little laugh bubbles out of my throat, like a hiccup. He’s still smiling, though, that soft, kind smile. “Okay, my mistake.”

“Want to play video games?” Nanami says, next to me.

“Ah--” I twist my neck between the two of them. “S-sure...?”

Nanami gives me her hand and I take it, fingers dry and cool against mine. “Let’s sit on the couch,” she says. “I think that’ll be best. I have a few handhelds in my backpack... Or I think I do.”

Makoto and Hinata start talking again, once we’re on the couch, but it’s quieter and conversational. It isn’t about business stuff, anymore. I hear them talk about the weather, and some other stuff. Nothing about risks. But Nanami is pressing a Gameboy into my hands, situating my fingers on the bumper buttons, and I’m gently tugged into an 8-bit world.

\- - -

“You really don’t remember,” she says, tagging a drag from her newly lit cigarette and stomping it out on our kitchen floor. She crosses her arms, smiling at me. She only has one hand.

Only one hand. I don’t stare, though. It’s rude to stare.

“Stupid little Komaeda, he wouldn’t remember a damn thing, even if his brain weren’t leaking out his ears.” She puts her hand up to her face, rubbing her porcelain cheek. “Say, Komaeda, how long did the fake doctors here tell you you’ve got?”

“Um...a few years,” I mumble, eyes locked on her right ear.

“Oh, only a few years. No wonder you two got hitched so quick. You even fuck yet, or is this just some puritan fantasy?”

I furrow my brow, looking down at my hands. “We didn’t...get married because of that. I wouldn’t have...”

She snorts. Her eyes are wet and wide, though. Like her face has morphed. “Of course not, babycakes,” she coos. “Hubby just loves you _sooo_ much, doesn’t he? Ah, it makes my little rotten heart squirm.”

I rub my knuckles, feeling displaced from my skin. “Who are you?”

She laughs, her mouth stretching wide like a snake. “Man, being here sure has made you a different brand of weird, hasn’t it? You’re defanged to all hell. They fucking castrated you, honey!”

I frown. I don’t understand what she’s saying. “Please get out of our apartment.”

“Absolutely depressing,” she says. “Fucking bummer of the year, Nagito.” She waves both arms at me. I can’t help myself, I can’t help but stare at the smooth stump on her forearm. The woman cackles, long and loud. “I can’t say if this is what you deserve, but man! The absolutely fucked up circumstances, you know? To give you all the cancer and shit when they could have taken it away. That’s bordering on a level of sadism even I can’t condone.”

She’s speaking gibberish.

“Stop chewing on your lip,” she hisses, before smiling sweetly. “Man, that dementia is a _bitch,_ huh? Does Mako-chan wipe the drool off you face, every night?”

I turn away from her. I don’t understand what’s happening, not at all. Where is Makoto? Did he let this woman in? Did I? I feel like he’ll be mad at me, if he sees me talking to her. I feel like Makoto will be very angry with me. I’ve never seen Makoto angry--Makoto is so _patient_ with me, always--but the threat hangs over me like a guillotine. “Please leave,” I whisper.

“They’re erasing you.” Her eyes are distant, foggy, her lips quivering. She wraps her hands around her elbows. “Soon there’ll be nothing left. How hopeless.”

“Wh-what do you...” I shake my head. She isn’t making any sense.

“Say, do you call him things in bed? He uses stupid pet names for you, probably. Makoto is the type. Hey, are you a crier? I bet you are. This you seems like a real crier. You definitely cry while you fuck. A weepy pillow princess, I’ll put my money on that!”

Her eyes are such a shocking blue. I close my eyes, rubbing my hands together. My lip is in my mouth, again. I don’t know how long it’s been there. She’s right about that. Dementia is a bitch.

She’s right about that. She’s right. She said something that’s right.

“Poor widdle Komaeda.” Her voice is shrill and cloying. “Doesn’t even know he’s in a lie. Doesn’t even know everybody around him’s just acting.”

Acting.

Mm.

I don’t like that line of thought.

But she continues it anyway. “Honestly! How the fuck could _you_ of all people ever believe anyone could ever like you? You’re the human equivalent of a stinking dumpster on a hot summer day!”

My hands are shaking. I keep my eyes closed. My lip hurts.

“This is a delicate operation, honey.” Her voice morphs, calm and informative. “It’s very possible this is their last attempt. They’ve chipped so much away from you. It’s a desperate last resort.”

“Get out,” I hiss.

Silence.

I open my eyes.

She’s staring at me, face blank. I can hear the wind, outside. A branch scratching against the window. The world feels contained to this room, to Makoto’s kitchen table, to Makoto’s window by the couch. It’s a small world, and it’s violated.

“I’m not some fucking dream you can wake up from, shnookums,” she barks, throwing her head back. _“This_ right here? It’s your reality.” She waves her arms before her face, laughing. Her arms. Her.

I swallow, but I don’t move. I feel like my legs are concrete beneath the knee.

“You’ll never get rid of me!” Her eyes are so blue, so big, so empty and wild. Like the expanse of sky over plains, stretching into nothingness. “They’re a bunch of fucking chumps, if they think they can fix you. You were broken from the fucking start. You didn’t need me at all, did you, Komaeda?”

I can’t move.

She smiles blithely. “All I had to do was blow in your general direction, and you tumbled right down that cliffside of despair by yourself. Isn’t that right?”

\- - -

A dream. Really bad dream. Makoto is with me, though, he’s around me, arms bracketed around my shoulders, thigh against my skull. I blink, groggy and mouth cottony.

“Nagito?” Makoto descends into my vision, upside down. He pushes strands of hair away from my eyes and mouth. Makoto’s hands are small, but they’re dry and warm and solid. They always feel right, when they’re on me.

“Are you mad?” I croak. The words come with no thought.

Makoto blinks. He frowns. Upside down, it almost looks like a smile. It isn’t, though. “Why would I ever be mad at you?”

“She was here...”

He doesn’t say anything. Just strokes my temples. It’s soothing. But there’s a deeply unsettled sense lodged in my chest that can’t be smoothed out.

“I...” I lick my lips, don’t pull at them with my teeth. My mouth feels empty, though, it feels hollow. I’m a rotted husk. “I saw her.”

“Saw who, Nagito?” His voice is so quiet. I can barely hear it.

I frown, working through my thoughts like wading through a bog. “I don’t...um. I don’t know her name... I’m sorry, Makoto.”

“It’s okay,” he says, automatic. His hands are warm and real against my face.

We should probably leave it at that. Makoto loves me. He isn’t pretending. He isn’t acting. But if I continue to be so much trouble, it’s very possible he won’t love me anymore.

“I just...” I blink, eyes stinging. “You mean so much to me, Makoto... I love you. You’re everything to me. You’re my only...”

“Hey,” he says, hand against my temple. “I love you too. You don’t need to talk like that. I love you, Nagito.”

Talk like what? “I just.” My throat is thick. I’m so embarrassing. I’m so pathetic. “I just hope you understand.”

He cocks his head. “I try to,” he admits. “I try really hard, Nagito. But you’re your own person, you know? We can never fully understand each other. But I don’t have to understand everything. I love you, and I love you just the way you are.”

They’re erasing you.

Makoto startles at my sudden motion, my fingers curled into his shirt. “--Nagito...?”

“I’m not...right,” I murmur. “Am I?”

He frowns, lost. “What?”

“I don’t know.” I suddenly feel incredibly tired. Bone-deep tired. My hand falls onto my chest. “I say nonsense all the time, don’t I?”

“It’s okay,” he says. “We’re going to get through this together, Nagito. Okay?”

“Okay,” I say, my eyelids slipping down. “Mm... Okay, Makoto... I trust you, but...”

“But,” he echoes, tone strange.

I can’t complete the thought before sleep snaps me in its jaws.

\- - -

“Sounds bad,” Nanami says, staring at her Gameboy Color.

“I don’t know.” I dig my shoe into the dirt. “But thanks for listening to me. You don’t...worry about me, like Makoto does.”

“You didn’t tell him?”

“I did,” I say, quickly. “But I don’t want to annoy him. I don’t want to turn it into something bigger than it is. It’s just a stupid dream.”

Nanami shrugs. She pauses her game, looking up at me. “If it bothers you,” she says, “you shouldn’t be afraid to talk to Makoto about it. That’s what I think.”

I smile, but it feels rubbery on my face. “I think so too,” I admit. “I know Makoto cares.”

“But you don’t feel it.” She resumes her game.

I shrug. “I don’t really know what I feel.”

“Maybe you should figure that out, first. I dunno.”

They’re erasing you. I blink, a smile twitching onto my face. The muscles in my face feel so tight. I think of rigor mortis.

“You know,” Nanami hums, “I like hanging out with you, Komaeda. I never think to play outside, but it’s a nice idea. It’s nice outside.”

“Yes,” I say, voice too loud and too flat. I look up at the barren branches of the trees. They’re sleeping. They need to sleep, in order to grow their leaves back come spring. That’s how it works, in nature. That’s the natural order. We live on a beautiful planet. Things sink into the earth and arise anew, better than before.

“It’ll be okay,” she says, voice distant and kind.

I sag against the park bench at those words. I cling to those words, more desperately than I would care to.

\- - -

Makoto and I are on the beach, finally. We’ve been wanting to go, and we won this lottery to go to the coast and stay in a hotel with our friends. A very lucky occasion. We all took the train together, and we only brought backpacks. It was kind of fun, even though it took a long time and we were all tired and dirty by the time we got to the hotel. It was an adventure, though, and we were together.

We’re on the beach, now, and we’re standing in front of the ocean. The ocean is filled with water. The sky is full of air. Things are exactly as they should appear.

I turn to see Hinata passed out in the sand. I try to get him to wake up, but he only turns away from me, grumbling into the ground. “You’re so boring,” he says, mouth full of dirt.

“Boring?” My voice sounds fuzzy and strange to my ears.

“Nagito, come on,” Makoto says, tugging at my left arm, right below my elbow. “We’re late.”

“Late for what?”

Makoto says something, but it’s garbled. I look out toward the water. There are beautiful shells on the shore. Each time I pick one up, I steal a home from a hermit crab. I am a thoughtless killer.

“Boring,” Hinata spits, sitting up to face me. I turn to look at him. His eyes are closed, lips pursed.

“Boring?” I say again, because I am stupid.

“Nagito,” Makoto says, pressured. “You’re so close, we just need to talk about it.”

“Talk about it?”

“Boring,” Hinata says again. “It could never work. I ran all the calculations before you were born.”

“You’re really hopeless huh,” I murmur.

Hinata opens his eyes. He’s a vampire. His hair is black. I stumble away from him, my foot getting cut on sea glass. Makoto calls the remnants of broken bottles on the beach sea glass, even though it’s just old pollution. It is pretty, though. It is pretty, I think distantly, grabbing my ankle with my right hand, lying in the wet sand.

“Come on,” Makoto says, “we’ve got to get you help. Just grab on. Take my hand.”

I reach up with my other hand, but

 

Huh?

Huh?

Huh? Huh? Huh? Huh? _Huh?_

\- - -

“I love it when it rains like this.” Makoto smiles at me. I smile too, looking out the window with him. It is pretty, even if it makes things look gray. I used to find it depressing, but Makoto’s perspective has rubbed off on me. Gray is beautiful, just like any other shade or color. The whole world changes when it rains, and that change is welcome. 

“It’s peaceful,” I say after a moment, listening to the rain hit the glass.

“Hey,” he says, gently tapping on the table near my hand. “You’re...”

I drop the spoon from my mouth, clattering loudly in my tea mug. Makoto looks at me, discomforted. I’m supposed to say something, aren’t I? I don’t feel like I am, but I think I am. “Sorry,” I venture, my voice flat.

“It’s okay.” He looks out the window. “You don’t need to apologize for stuff like that.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Makoto sighs, but it isn’t a bad sigh. He cups his face in his hand. “It makes me sleepy, though,” he says. “The rain. You know?”

“Mm.”

“Oh well. It’s not a terrible thing, to be sleepy, I guess.”

“The rain make things look better after it’s over,” I say. “Things are greener, after the rain. So even if I don’t always like rain, I think it’s worth it.”

Makoto hums, fingers moving lightly against my knuckles. “You really believe stuff like that, don’t you? You always do, no matter what.”

“I have to,” I say. “What else am I supposed to believe?”

He nods, moving his palm over my hand. “It makes a lot of sense. I just worry, that’s all. Sometimes there are easier ways to get the same results, you know.”

I cock my head. “Rain?”

“More than rain,” he says. “We’re talking about more than rain, right now, Nagito.”

“Oh.”

“But that’s okay.” He smiles. “It’s also about rain. We can just water plants ourselves, you know? We don’t need to wait for rain. Not always.”

“I can’t water every tree in town.”

He laughs. I don’t know what’s funny about that, but I laugh with him, because I love hearing Makoto laugh so much. I just love it so much. Makoto is so good. Makoto is so kind, he’s nothing like her at all. He’s the opposite of her. Of.

Oh no.

I’ve poisoned the whole association now, haven’t I? Thinking of them in the same breath. That’s against the rules, I know that. In my mind, that’s against the rules. Because now the floodgates are down and I can see every way he isn’t like her. There are so many. Different eyes, different smiles, different voices, different clothes, different words, different hands, different

Ah. Shit.

Shit, huh?

Ha ha.

“Nagito, what’s wrong? Hey, don’t... What’s wrong, why are you crying? Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” I reply, rejecting his kindness for the first time I can remember. Makoto stares at me, concerned and distant through watery film. I smile, choking out a laugh. “No, I... I really don’t.”

\- - -

“What’s with that face? Another bad dream, Komaeda?”

“Why are you doing this?”

She looks at me, eyes trailing over my body. I’m not very impressed by her constant theatrics. She doesn’t need to do that. “What’s the saying?” she hums, pursing her lips. “Oh, can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs?”

I don’t say anything.

“Got to take the good with the bad. Got to go through the bad in order to get the good, at the end. That’s what you used to think. I guess you still do, don’t you? But it’s subdued. They really fucked with you, huh?”

“You despise me,” I say quietly.

She blinks, giving me a small smile. “Yep! I absolutely hate your fucking guts, Komaeda, baby.”

“Mm.”

“Trust me, I’m not unique in that regard.”

I look at the people passing us. I keep waiting to see Makoto’s face, in the crowd of strangers. I don’t know why.

“He ain’t gonna save you.”

I don’t look at her. I taste metal. Zipper. I’m sucking on my zipper. Embarrassing. I don’t care enough to stop.

“Nobody’s gonna save poor Komaeda. Quit the innocent victim schtick, pissboy. You knew exactly what you were doing, all along, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I confess.

She hums, sticking her tongue out. I suck on my zipper, frowning at her. “Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout, Komaeda?”

My mouth is hollow. I feel so empty, inside. I just need something.

“Something to fill you up,” she intones. Then she cackles, slapping her knee. “Won’t be a cock, that’s for sure!”

“Please stop,” I murmur, hating the wobbling gait of my words.

She wipes her nose, grinning. “You’re so fucking pathetic, aren’t you? Straight to the core. You’re garbage. Absolute fucking garbage. Trash.”

I know. She’s boring, isn’t she? In this way, she’s very boring.

Boring. Vampire Hinata, with the red eyes and dead face.

She waves both arms at me, giving me a beatific grin. I turn my eyes to the ground, tapping my shoe.

“Can you just leave?” I ask, my voice small and awful.

“Say please,” she crows.

“Please.”

She laughs, slapping her thigh. “Shit! Shit, you are nothing like you were, are you? Shit! Holy shit, so fucking funny...” She frowns, all traces of mirthful tears gone from her face. “Oh, Komaeda.”

“I like the trees,” I say. I don’t know why I say it. I guess because I was thinking it.

“They’re dead,” she spits.

“Just sleeping.”

“Trees don’t sleep, you fucking moron. You see eyelids on trees? You hear trees snoring at night?”

I blink, looking at her sour face. Her personality, it reeks like a rotted fruit, swarming with maggots. There’s something strangely compelling about it, in that sense. Sweet, but disgusting. Something I want to avoid, but would have to eat, if I were desperate enough.

“Ah,” I say. “Train tickets.”

“The fuck you talking about?”

“I can buy as many as I want, but I’ll never get away. I’ll always have to eat you, huh? Because you’re all I got.”

She stares at me. Then she blinks, face blossoming into something beautiful.

I can’t stop laughing.

\- - -

Awake. In bed. Makoto’s and my bed. The door is cracked open. I snuffle, moving into Makoto’s spot. It’s still warm. I press my face into the sheets, sighing. Voices.

“I know!” Makoto muscles the words out, frustration bleeding into his tone. “I’ve-- I’ve _tried_ , do you think I haven’t _tried?_ But I’m not going to give up! I can’t give up on him! I won’t ever even consider it. So it’s off the table. It’s one hundred percent off the table. We’re not aborting this. We’re not starting over. This is it. This is going to work.”

“And what happens even if you do succeed?” Hinata, angry, voice hot. “You what? Get shipped out to the Foundation, where they’ll string you up for treason? Who’s even going to take care of him? Other me?”

“They’ll have to understand. I couldn’t... I can’t... You _know_ him, just like I do. No one can get left behind. No one can... He’s...”

“I don’t really know him,” Hinata says stiffly. “I’m a facsimile of someone who did know him. But I understand. You’re right, I want the same things. But at what cost, Naegi? Komaeda is easily the most volatile. Komaeda is easily the most at-risk for being a lost cause. But still, you came in here. You did that, with no guarantees for an exit. Forgive me--or not, I don’t care--but this is plain crazy. You have no sense of self-preservation. You weren't like this with the others. This isn't just a role for you. There’s something else going on here, isn’t there? Something you haven’t told us.”

Makoto doesn’t say anything.

My eyes slip closed, heavy and so tired.

\- - -

On a bench. Where, it doesn’t matter. Things often don’t make sense, to me. I’m here, then I’m there, then I’m in bed. I’m often in bed. But here, I am on a bench. And she’s next to me. The woman.

I hate that I don’t even question it, anymore. I hate that she seems so familiar to me, now.

“You’re right about one thing,” she says. “I _am_ all you got. I was thinking about what you just said, Komaeda. And you were right about that.”

“Ah,” I say.

“So,” she says brightly. “You’re still playing this game, where everything fits together like this fun jigsaw, huh? Like life makes sense, and things have purpose.”

I side-eye her. She’s really quite repugnant. Her attitude is erratic, but consistently terrible. But she says I was right, and that means she’s sickening but sustaining. For what, though? To what end? “What are you even trying to accomplish,” I mutter.

She gives me a mock shocked face. “I’m trying to free you. Isn’t that much obvious? They really screwed with your head, you know? You don’t understand anything that’s happening. If you did, you’d realize how much of this doesn’t add up. You’re stupid, Komaeda, but you’re also smart in some ways. I’ll give you that.”

I frown, clenching my jaw.

“You ever wonder why this is all so neat and tidy? I told you, it’s absolutely puritan fantasy,” she says, tipping her wet umbrella into her lap. “I know you two don’t fuck. You’ve never fucked.”

“I’m too sick,” I say, automatic. My teeth click. I didn’t want to say anything about it to her. It’s invasive. None of her business at all. But she seems to know everything, anyways.

She laughs. Her laughter makes me feel dirty. Diseased. “He doesn’t want to fuck you,” she says sweetly. “Every time he touches you, he’s thinking about how much he doesn’t want to touch you. He thinks about washing his hands.”

I shower a lot. I’m not dirty. I’m not. I’m clean. Nothing is rotting or stinking on me. I make sure of it. I rub my elbows, frowning. My lip’s in my mouth. I let it go. My teeth immediately search for my tongue. I allow that. I can’t much help it.

“Makoto’s always trying to save people,” she says, tone limp and apathetic. “Don’t take it so personally. It doesn’t mean anything at all. He has a messiah complex, you know?”

I swallow. “Makoto...is a good person. He’s the best person. I love Makoto. He’ll help me. Makoto supports me. Makoto will do anything to help all of us, Makoto’s going to make sure everything is okay. He always does his best...”

She cants her neck, looking at me with hooded eyes. “I guess it can’t be helped. You always were a slut for hope.”

“H-hope...” I twist my fingers into my pants, looking down. “I don’t... I just want things to turn out okay.”

“Absolutely pathetic, you know? Sometimes, you should just accept things as they are. Nothing ever gets better for you, Komaeda. Ups and downs, peaks and valleys, you know? You’re on a rollercoaster that’ll only end in a derailing crash. Crash! Boom! Splat!”

“No,” I say, not needing to think about it. “Things will be okay. In the end.”

“It’ll all be worth it?” She sounds sympathetic, serious and commiserating. “You really do think that, don’t you? I guess you have to. How else could something like you go on? No, I get it, Komaeda. It’s all been very hard on you. You’re just dealing with things the best way that you can.”

She leans in close to me, breath reeking of canned soda. Her mouth is sharp and wanting, her lips canting upwards. “That doesn’t excuse what you did, though.”

\- - -

“Are you feeling okay?” Hinata, with his brusque tone.

“Ah ha...” I grin. “I’m fine, Hinata! Thank you so much for bothering to ask someone like me such a compassionate question...”

He frowns, eyes raking over my face. My skin feels raw. I keep smiling. “Ugh,” he grunts, under his breath.

I smile wider.

It hurts.

\- - -

“Hey.” Makoto. It’s Makoto’s voice. The air is disgusting, putrid, it burns my lungs. But Makoto’s voice, raw and sore, is still Makoto’s. I search for it.

“--Ah. Oh. It’s...” He blinks at me, before offering a tentative smile. “K-Komaeda Nagito, right?”

“What?” I say.

“You’ve got to come with me." He extends his hand. “Would you come with me? We can help you. We can save you.”

“I would do anything for you, Makoto,” I say. “You’re the most important person in the world.”

He cringes.

I reach out toward him, but I never seem to be able to touch him. He’s just out of reach. The air is awful, here. I can’t be in air like this. It’s bad for anyone, and worse for me. My immune system is so weak. Why would I be here? Why is Makoto looking at me like I’m... Like I’m...

Like I’m what?

Something has gone wrong. I don’t know this scene. It isn’t Makoto’s apartment, or the street, or the park, or Nanami’s, or a beach. I don’t know this scene. I don’t know this scene. I don’t know

What’s on my hand?

Why can’t I feel my hand?

Hey, Makoto, why can’t I--

Makoto, what did I _do?_

\- - -

did?

what did i do, exactly?

...

oh, something terrible, probably.

\- - -

The world is composed of good and bad. I don’t think that’s a crazy statement. I think most people will agree with me, besides the truly asinine who will object to really anything if it suits them. So good and bad. Vital components of the world. Everything can fall into one or the other. Good or bad. Fair enough.

Makoto, obviously, is good. Makoto is an absolute good. Makoto is compassionate, dutiful, contentious, hard-working, empathetic, and loving. Makoto haunts my waking hours like a guardian angel, making sure I don’t step out in traffic or chip my teeth sucking on zippers and spoons. He lets me take as many showers a day as I want, he lets me say all the insensitive drivel that spills out of my mouth, he lets me cry in public and trip over his feet. All without complaint. All without hard feelings. Makoto is, truly, an absolute good, a force of goodness, more a something than a someone.

Does he love me? I can’t say. There are no tells that suggest otherwise. I search for them, but I’m stupid and slow and Makoto has never once hurt me, not ever. Makoto is a perversely benign entity, always saying the right things, never committing any wrongs. Makoto cups my face and tells me to never give up, tells me he will be there for me, tells me he loves me.

That should be suspicious enough, shouldn’t it?

The woman would say so. And she’s been right before. She knows what I am, after all. I’m something bad. I’m not sure how, but I know that must be the category I fall into. I’m rotten all the way through, just like her. She treats me like the creature that I am. Makoto, on the other hand.

Makoto… 

He treats me like...

I really can't finish that sentence. I don't deserve to. 

I really would come apart at the seams if I did, I think. 

"Nagito..."

Conversely, that woman must be the devil. She is despicably human in her aspects. I can see her, seared into my brain. Mean, inconsistent, fattening and draining. She fills me up with shit only to suck me dry afterwards. I can see her. Her curled fingers, red nails, cupping her face. I can see her in my mind’s eye, blowing me little air kisses, waving with her handless arm. That handless arm... Her left arm, reduced to a stump from the middle of her forearm up, air where there once was flesh. Who would do such a thing to her? Who could do such a thing to anyone? If I were her, I would hate that person so terribly, the person who would do something to horrible. The kind of person who would do that, who would take her hand away.Only a wretched, nasty creature would do such a thing to another human, no matter how vile the human in question. 

She does have such a lovely hand. I would assume the same would apply to the one that’s missing in action. Soft, white hands. They're pretty hands, aren't they? Who wouldn't be lucky to have even just one of those pretty hands? 

“...Nagito?”

I can’t stop laughing. I’m choking. I’m drowning. I feel like the floor’s come out from under me, like the sky’s crashing down, like the horizon is conspiring to crush me in its jaws, the sun a cruel eye above my garbling death throes.

“Nagito!” Makoto’s voice is close and urgent.

And there is my sun god, watching me with not a cruel eye but a wary one, a weeping one. It is so much more than I deserve and it makes me  _sick._

“You’re so bright,” I groan, feeling my lips move. “You’re that shining beacon, aren’t you? What all of this amounts to? What we’ve all been dying for?”

Makoto stares at me with wide, lost eyes.

I wipe the tears from my eyes, grinning at him. “She’s real, isn’t she?”

\- - -

“He’s ready,” the stuffed animal squeals, spinning on the counter. I stare at it. Robot? Robot, I suppose. Automaton of some sort. How? Who knows? I’m not an especially smart person, on the best of days.

And this is definitely not one of my good days.

“Okay,” Makoto says, jaw tight. I want to reach out and touch him, smooth his face, kiss his forehead, grab his shoulders, breathe him in and puke all over his hair.

He walks toward me. This is his kitchen. Our kitchen? We’re in that familiar, old scene. This is a scene I know. I have two hands and Makoto’s lungs are clean. There are no women here, and there is no water. This is something concrete, something that feels real to me.

But in this context, with this chattering robot, with Makoto’s drawn expression, it feels intensely foreign.

“We aren’t totally sure if you’re ready,” Makoto says, “but these are the circumstances. And I have faith. I believe in you.”

I stare at him. He seems so alien to me, now. My heart pounds, a ragged staccato in my ribs.

“I’ll do anything to save you, Komaeda,” he says, voice low but fervent, thin hands warm and dry around mine.

I stare at them. Komaeda, he had said. “We aren’t newlyweds,” I mumble. “Pity.”

“I...”

No. Makoto is not my husband. Makoto isn’t even my friend. Makoto’s my god, and he’s a distressingly reticent god.

She’s right. None of this adds up at all.

I shake my head, but it doesn’t shake me free of the dream. “M... Naegi,” I say. “You must have a lot of hope for me, to go through with something so involved. Whatever this is, it...has a lot of moving parts, I think.”

He starts, sweat leaking from his palms, his eyes wide and bright. “I-I... I just care,” he says, something wrong with his tone. Fear, I think. He’s afraid. Of what?

Of me?

I stare at him, the cogs of my brain grinding together. “What’s wrong?”

He blinks.

“Why...all of this? What’s happening? What are you scared of?” Are you afraid of me? Why are you afraid of me?

Makoto shakes his head, biting his lip. “It’s...hard to explain,” he says. “We should discuss this with the others.”

“The others,” I say blankly.

“The others,” he repeats, nodding his head. “You’re...sleeping, right now, Komaeda.”

Sleeping.

Ah.

Ha ha.

“I’m real,” he says. “You’re real, too. We’re both real. But we’re sleeping, right now. And we’re waiting for you to wake up.”

Makoto and I are real. He didn’t say anything about anyone else.

How terrifying.

What has he done?

“Very extreme methods...” I murmur, mind drifting.

“You’re a very extreme case.”

What have _I_ done?

If I’m sleeping, then this is a dream. Of course. Naturally. Because why would any of this be real? All of this is just dress-up, and for what? I’m not sure. I can’t say. But it shows how truly stupid I am, to have thought this was real. I am sleeping, and this has all just been one stupid, pointless dream.

Admittedly, it's a bit hard to take in. I think I'm in a bit of shock. 

All those conversations, they had. Were they about me? Were they talking about me, right in front of me? Am I really that obviously stupid? 

“All this trouble...” I shake my head. “All this effort, this _risk_ for a worm.”

“You aren’t a worm,” Makoto says, urgent. His hands are as warm as they’ve always been. “You’re...you’re so important, Komaeda. You’re worth so much. You’re a person.”

“You don’t love me,” I say, hollow and arid. “But in this world, you’ve designed it so that I love you. That’s a bit cruel, don’t you think?”

“K-Komaeda...”

The woman, she was right about everything. Every last thing, she was right about. “If this isn’t real, why give me the cancer? The...the dementia? If you could fix everything, why did you saddle me with this?”

“I... Komaeda, you would know, then,” Makoto says, voice tight and desperate. He sounds sad. I don’t know what to think of that. I’m not sure if I can believe that voice. It hurts. It hurts, not knowing if I can trust that voice. “You’re not a blank slate. You would know, if we did that. You wouldn’t...you would never believe this, if we’d done that.”

"Sure." Dream me and waking me have the same prognosis, I assume. What a shitty, lame dream. 

He flinches, looking down. "And I... This was the role I had to play. It's what worked for your...subconscious? To develop a world that would match your ideal circumstances, but wouldn't overtax your suspension of disbelief too heavily. We were really pushing it. Does that make any sense? Probably not... I know, it looks awful. I guess it is. None of this is ideal. Ideally, we wouldn't have had to make you forget anything. We didn't want to keep secrets. We wanted you to find out. And it wasn't just. Wasn't just a role for me, Komaeda, I really... I... Um. That is, I. Ah."

He's just blathering, now. “Who else?”

He blinks. “What?”

“Who else is involved in this,” I say, my voice frighteningly steady. I’m a creature that knows how to act in the face of tragedy. I'm a creature that is familiar with betrayal. How despicable. How depressing. “Hinata, too? Nanami? They’re part of this. They must be.”

“It’s...complicated,” he says.

“I have to say. Kudos to whatever you did to me. It’s hard to believe you convinced me so thoroughly that people could like me. Love me, even. It’s insane to think, isn’t it?”

He has a pained expression. “It really isn’t.”

I laugh, squeezing the air from my depressed lungs. Makoto stares at me with wide, worried eyes. A lie. Makoto is a lie. A lie I still want to believe. A lie that parts of me still cling to, desperately. He was everything, after all. And everything has fallen out from below me, leaving me in the dark with nothing healthy to sustain me. 

“We did this to save you.”

“You would do this for anyone,” I say. The woman's words. She was right about everything else. “I’m not special.”

He just shakes his head.

“All of this trouble for nobody...you truly must be a saint.” I look down at our hands. Together. His hands, so small, covering my knuckles. I used to feel this peace at his touch. I still do. But it’s rotten now, isn’t it? It’s rotted straight through, like an old melon. It reeks, buzzing with flies. Sickly sweet, still. Her hands are my hands. Makoto should never have to touch her hands. 

“Komaeda...” Makoto laughs humorlessly. “Do you really think I would go through all of this if I didn’t love you?”

I stare at him. My mind is unpleasantly empty.

He shakes his head, looking away from me. “You’re right.” His voice is unsteady. “I would do this for anyone. To a point. I’m just...that kind of person, I guess." He bites his lip. "But this isn’t for anyone. I wouldn't break protocol for anyone else. I wouldn't have been so... It’s... It’s personal.”

“Are we...” I search for the most neutral phrase possible. “Are we close? Outside of here.”

Makoto’s face is unreadable. “Yes,” he says, after a moment.

“It isn’t like this, though, is it.”

He rubs his hand over the back of mine. His hands are so small. Soft, warm. It feels natural, to let him touch me. But that’s part of the lie, isn’t it? These aren't even my hands. “We both wish it were.”

I frown.

“Komaeda...” He looks at me. “We need to talk about you waking up. We need to...to tell you about the outside world. Are you okay with that?”

“I’m not sure,” I admit.

“That’s understandable.” He looks down at our joined hands. “But I believe in you, Komaeda. I really do.”

“Who is that woman, N-Naegi?”

He sighs, a ragged, tired sound. “Enoshima Junko,” he says. “She was Ultimate Despair.”

“Ultimate...”

“She was the most despairing person in the world,” he says, “at one time.”

Despairing person. I roll the phrase around in my head, but it doesn’t amount to much.

So she is real. Was. Makoto said “was.”

I look at Makoto. He’s such a small person. He’s so small, but he’s so strong. He’s so assured in himself. He’s so good and righteous and he’s a shining creature, bathed in sunlight of his own creation. Makoto is powerful. Makoto pretended to love me. Makoto says we’re close, outside of here.

“Do you think...” I bite my cheek, shame flooding me. It’s quickly stomped out by a numbing confusion, an irritated apathy that creeps up on me and takes my brain hostage. So I continue, “Do you think this thing, here, do you think we could make it happen? In the real world? Or could we at least be friends? Even though you’ve lied to me, I... I’m really quite close to you. I wish I weren’t. Maybe I’ll unlearn it. If you prefer that. I don't mean to sound so impertinent.”

“We were already close,” he says. “It was just different. We weren’t equals. You wouldn’t let us be equals. I’d like for us to be equals.”

I try to see myself, talking down to Makoto. Sweet, compassionate, lying Makoto. Treating him as less than me. It’s a foreign, disturbing concept. “I can’t imagine ever thinking I’m above you.”

“You didn’t.” His voice is strange. “That wasn’t it.”

Oh. Well, the alternative is much more understandable.

“Komaeda. Usami thinks you’re ready, and so I’m going to trust her. I think you are, too.” He lets go of (not) my hands, and I feel untethered. “I trust you, Komaeda. I have so much hope for you, and your future. I believe in you.” He holds out his hand. “It isn’t an easy truth. It’s an awful truth. I won’t lie to you. But if you’re willing to wake up, you can take my hand.”

An awful truth. Of course everything is so much worse than it seems. An ugly, slimy thing writhes in the back of my brain. Is that me? The real me? Should have seen this coming, it says. No good without bad. And this had seemed so very good, hadn’t it? If this were real life, Makoto would have died six ways to Sunday. Maybe it’s for the best, that this isn’t real.

Maybe it’s for the best.

Good luck, that one, then.

“I’m afraid,” I say.

“That makes sense,” he says. “I’m afraid, too.”

Makoto’s afraid?

Makoto’s afraid. (Of me?)

“Things are uncertain,” he says. “But that’s why I’m hoping. I don’t know how things will turn out. But I’m going to try. I’m going to do everything I can, just like I have done everything I could. I need your cooperation, though. I want to help you, Komaeda.”

“Help me,” I echo, hollow and winded.

So many ways this could go wrong, the slimy voice hisses. Reach out and you’ll rip his arm out of his socket, smash his skull in, end the world. Reach out and everything goes to shit, Nagito, don’t you see it? Plane crashes and kidnappings and suicides that result in dead ends. One touch, and he catches whatever leper’s curse you own. You’re a virus. Reach out, and you’ll infect him.

He gives me a small, shaky smile. A private smile. A kind, gentle, loving smile. Warm, like his morning smiles. All the smiles I thought I was waking up to. It’s a fragile expression, on his face. Vulnerable. A smile that could be dashed to a million broken pieces, like shattered glass on the beach.

I reach for his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose the more accurate title for this would be "Makoto Uses Morally Objectionable Strategies While OOC Komaeda Thinks About Junko's Hands Too Much And Also I Use Too Many Ellipses."  
> This was just something I wrote for fun in a week. I decided to post it, because I had fun writing it. If you think it sucks, I hope it at least sucks in a moderately entertaining way.


End file.
